


Interlude: Getting to Know You

by juice817, semaphoredrivethru



Series: Past Curfew [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Epistolary, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juice817/pseuds/juice817, https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver did promise to write to Bill, after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Getting to Know You

  
_13 November, 1992_

Dear Bill,

Probably you didn't think I'd actually write, and really I'm not good with words. I got your direction from Percy, though, so here's my letter. The broom handles like a dream, it's bloody brilliant. Thank you _so much_. Angie thinks it's brilliant too, and she wants me to let her ride it again but I won't let her often. She wanted me to ask if Charlie likes blokes too, or if he fancies girls instead. Don't worry, she knows I'm your secret and she won't tell anyone.

I expect Egypt is hot, yeah? Do you drink a lot of water to stay cooler? Do you wear those white robes like Egyptians wear or wizarding robes? What do you wear under?

I realised I don't know what you do for the bank. Percy said once you worked for Gringott's. What do you do? Do you like it? ~~Do you miss me at all?~~

I guess that's everything. Classes are the same as ever. Harry is just fine again and playing. Something odd is going on, though. Not really sure what, but there's a lot of strange talk about Slytherins. Or maybe, considering the subject, not that strange. I haven't really been paying that much attention, to be honest. If it's not to do with quidditch it doesn't really sink in. I guess one of our firsties was petrified and is in the hospital wing. Mrs Norris was petrified too, on Halloween, but Filch is really the only one who's worried about her.

From,  
Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _17 November, 1992_

Oliver,

Well, now this is certainly a surprise. I never much had you as the letter-writing sort, but I reckon that if I said we were going to be mates, then letters are a good a way as any while I'm here. I'm glad you (and this Angie) like your broom; the man at the shop said it was the best, and kept asking me what team Charlie was joining. One of the curses of my hair in our world, having everyone know in an instant who I "belong to." And yes, Charlie fancies girls. Much to his current girlfriend's delight, I'm sure, but I wouldn't know about _that_.

It sounds like this Angie is one of your best mates, so I'm not going to give you the tongue-lashing you deserve for going off and telling what I thought we'd agreed to keep quiet. I'm a Curse Breaker with the bank, and I love working out here, but I don't want to be an underling for the rest of my life. It's good, Oliver, to have plans beyond the now, you know, and I can't see the Goblins being too keen on promoting me if half the Wizarding world were to look at me and think, _Ah, the oldest Weasley boy. He's the paedophile, you know. Waits until they're old enough so he won't get into any legal trouble..._

But that's enough of that.

Egypt is lovely, actually. Hot, dry, rather a lot of sand... and full of beautiful history and mystery. Even the Muggles here are an exotic and delightful bunch, surprisingly colourful and fun. You should see the way the sun shimmers over the sand in the morning when it's just rising and starting to heat things up again after the chill desert night. It's like the birth of a new world each day, one of fire. And the nights; you need to wear a jacket to go outside because there are no buildings or plants about to hold the previous day's heat, only cold sand and the occasional gust of wind for company when you look up and see even more stars than can be seen outside at Hogwarts. When you're done school, you really ought to take some time to travel and see the world, because there's so much more out here than you can possibly imagine. Unless, of course, you get snatched up by a professional team, as my mother seems convinced you will be.

Halloween? Are you telling me that there were dangerous things about already when you snuck out to see me? Oliver, you can't do that any more. I won't be the reason you're petrified or worse, and if that means I have to stay away, then I will. Risking your neck for something is all well and good, and rather keeping with our House, but you hardly know me well enough for me to be worth that sort of danger. Letters home about truancy and expulsion are nothing compared to getting yourself killed, do you understand me?

Just... please be careful. Or, at least as careful as a Gryffindor that's fond of heights can be.

 _~Bill_

  
~*~*~*~

  
 _22 November, 1992_

Bill,

I'm not really a letter writer, but it's the only way to talk to you. The broom is the very best. Angie will be disappointed, I think. I think she wanted to meet him. But if he's already got a girl it won't do her much good. Angie is my very best mate and is the only one I'd've ever told. I said she won't tell and she won't, and you aren't a paedophile. You said yourself you do adult things with other adults. I won't ruin your life, I promise.

You're worth it. But it's not that dangerous, it's the stupid firsties sneaking around the castle where they shouldn't. And if the danger is _in_ the castle, as it seems to be, then it will be actually safer for me to sneak out to see you. The kid was petrified while I was with you. But it doesn't matter anyway, does it - you're thousands of miles away for weeks and weeks.

My hands actually itch to touch you again. I can still feel your cock in me when I think about it and remember. I can't sleep until I've wanked remembering the way you look when you come, and sometimes not even then. You have to come back soon, I don't think I could manage to explain disappearing long enough to get to you.

 _Please_.

Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _27 November, 1992_

Oliver,

I know I'm not a paedophile, and you know it, too, but do you honestly think people like your parents will be so understanding? They'll say I'm taking advantage of you, you know. That's part of why you really need to experiment around with blokes your own age; see what's out there that's not just me. You'll thank me for it one day.

Charlie's definition of "girlfriend" is pretty ambigious, actually, so if Angie's of age, she might have a chance with meeting him the next time he and I are both back home at the same time. If she isn't, then she's just going to have to wait, because I'm not contributing to the moral decay of the rest of my family if I can help it.

As for whatever's causing trouble at the school, maybe it'd be best if all you did was classes and Quidditch and _not_ go about looking for new ways to sneak out. And if you're with a bloke, try to find some place better than the old empty classroom trick -- McGonagall knows all those places, so it'd stand to reason that whatever this Slytherin/nasty thing is up to, it knows them too. And while I'm at it...

Fucking _hell_ , Oliver! Don't... what if someone saw you writing those things? Not that it doesn't paint a gorgeous picture, because it _does_ , and I can just see that now, which is going to make work rather interesting for a while until my shorts stop feeling like they've been hit with a shrinking charm. But it's not exactly _discreet_ , now, is it?

And you need to _stay put_. I'm not allowed unscheduled visitors and if you show up here, I'm not going to drop by around Christmas after all.

 _~Bill_

  
~*~*~*~

 _1 December, 1992_  
Bill,

You make me sound like some sort of disease or something. Angie's 15 now, but she's not any more a disease than I am. When will you stop pushing me at other blokes? I don't want _them_ , I keep telling you. Do you really think I should just start fucking everything? I think it should mean more than that, that I mean more than that.

No one's paying me the slightest attention and if they did, they'd think I was doing Charms revisions. I like writing those things to you, it's almost like doing them to you. Not nearly as good, of course, but I have to take what I can get. How much more discreet can it get? It's a letter from me to you, it's not a fucking ad in the bloody _Prophet_. Don't you want to know what I think, what I do, when I wank remembering you? I like to think about you wanking. I like to think about my mouth on your cock or my tongue in your arse. I liked doing that.

Christmas isn't for _ages_. It's, like, weeks and weeks away. I don't want to wait that long. I'll stay here, though. It's not like I have the papers or the money for a trip clear out there. I miss you.

Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _6 December, 1992_

Oliver,

I never said you were a disease, Ollie. What I did say, is that people won't understand why I can so easily ignore societal norms and fuck you without feeling guilty for it. ~~Hell, _I_ don't even understand it.~~ The only guilt I've got is that you're missing out on a great time of life by holding out for me. You should get a boyfriend and fall in love and do all those things teenagers do, or at least those things I've been told they do. Me, when I was your age, I didn't want any of that shite after my one messy attempt.

You've a filthy mind, Oliver Wood. I love it, even if you are giving me intellectual whiplash going back and forth, one way in one paragraph, and trying to not wank just from reading the next. I may have to start saving your letters to read back at my flat at night, if only because my co-workers think my sunblock charm's losing its edge and I'm getting a burn.

Are you going to be at the school over the hols? I have to admit, it makes me nervous, the danger of whatever it is lurking the halls, and like I said, I don't want to be the cause of something bad happening to you.

 _~Bill_

  
~*~*~*~

 _9 December, 1992_

Bill,

I don't want ~~another~~ a boyfriend. Stop it.

If you want to start saving them I'll start writing more. Like how it felt to have you push into me. How I could feel the veins on your cock as you slid in. How it stretched and tugged and almost hurt but didn't, not after that first time. It was the most brilliantly full feeling in the world. Or how it felt to have you get hard in my mouth. You tasted musky and salty. More musk and less salt in your arse, but that might have been because of the water running down your back and into your arse on my tongue. Or maybe how it felt to have your mouth on my cock, except I don't think I have the words to describe that one. It melted my brain completely. I want to do it all again, right now.

I'll be at achool most of the time. Mum and Dad are going to be gone most of December so I'm just staying at school except for the actual holidays. They'll be home Christmas eve, I think. I know I'm going home that night and staying a couple days. They're going again for the new year so I'm going back early. They leave a lot. Nothing is going to happen to me, stop that, too.

Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _13 December, 1992_

Oliver,

Fine. I'll stop, for now. But I'm only insisting because I know... oh hell, when did I turn into my parents? Right. I'll drop the subject, if you'll promise me one thing...

That we can talk about it later. In person, because after your last letter, you have to know that I'm going to come and see you during your hols now. And if you promise to destroy it, I'll even tell you what I'm thinking in my next letter.

I'll definitely be home Christmas Eve and Christmas, but I reckon I could manage a day or two extra. We'll see, yeah?

 _~Bill_

  
~*~*~*~

 _15 December, 1992_

Bill,

Please, tell me what you're thinking. About everything, but especially about sex. ~~About _me._~~ And hell, yeah, we can talk about it later. As long as there are practical demonstrations as well. I can't wait for Christmas. It can't possibly come soon enough. We can just stay in my dorm as long as you're here. None of the other boys in my year are staying, it'll be just us ~~except Percy~~. How many days, do you know yet?

This will be the best Christmas _ever._

Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _19 December, 1992_

Oliver,

 ~~We won't just talk about sex, kid. God, was I this one-tracked when I was your age?~~

Remember, _destroy this letter_.

You made me think all sorts of delicious things I could do to you. I could take you into the shower again, but this time I'd fuck you right there against the tile, the water pouring over us and those hot little moans of yours echoing around us. I could put you on all fours and pound into you from behind, fucking you so hard you'd be begging for more, but I'd make you wait to even touch your cock, wait until you were about to scream from it all, so when you did finally wrap that strong hand of yours around that gorgeous cock, you really would scream. And that would be just the opener to the night. I'd tie you up, gag you, torture you with pleasure, make you come untouched, and then push my way into you until you were crying because it felt so good, hurt just the right sort of way.

I don't think a school dorm room would be a good place for that, though. I'll get a room again, and it's looking like I'll have 27 December through 31 free. And a good thing, too, because I want to pull your robes off and taste your body and leave marks everywhere. You think _you_ want to fuck? Try knowing all the different ways to make it. Just. _That._ Good.

 ~~Looks like you're not the only one with sex on the brain.~~ And as for anything else that isn't about sex, well, you're just going to have to ask me.

 _~Bill_

  
~*~*~*~

 _21 December, 1992_

Oh my god. Oh, my _god_. How am I supposed to wait until _after_ Christmas for that? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I think I'll be wanking from now until you show up, nonstop. I'm fucking shaking, Bill. Holy fuck. I want it all. God, I want it all yesterday.

Fuck. I don't even know what else to say. Why isn't there a charm to make time go faster? I'll come back from home early, I'll be waiting for you. Unless I'm dead from wanking by then.

Oliver

  
~*~*~*~

 _23 December, 1992_

Oliver,

I'll see you in four days, then. I'll find you.

Just remember, though; if you're dead, we can't fuck.

 _~Bill_

PS: You destroyed the letter, right?

  
~*~*~*~

 _24 December, 1992_

Bill,

You're joking, right? I've not only charmed it to look like Quidditch strategies, I've charmed it so it's indestructible now. I can't stop reading it. And wanking. And again and again. Er. Which is why I had to make it indestructible. I won't be dead. I hope. Only three days.

Oliver


End file.
